The rolling hills and skyscrapered valleys provide a lovely contrast on the island of Taiwan.
The sun is setting. Conversation and the tinny automated voice are the only things that disturb the gentle hum of the MRT. It’s 5:20 p.m. We pass swathes of grass knitted together like a patchwork quilt on the riverbanks. We are plunged into darkness as the train rockets through the mountain tunnels. We emerge and find ourselves surrounded on all sides by lush treetops. A freeway extends westward, cutting the landscape of a world so remarkably forgotton by the rest of the world.
When you talk about Taiwan, most laugh (politely) thinking in their minds how silly you are to have mispronounced Thailand. The remaining few will often glance quizzically at you, one brow furrowed in serious thought, convinced you just made that name up. But it does exist. Isle Formosa they used to call it.
I’m here for two reasons. One is out of pure selfishness – it’s another place to check off my bucket list. The second – perhaps it is just as selfish – is to create (maybe mend would be a better word here) a relationship with my mom.
I guess you could say I’m on a pilgrimage of sorts. By sheer osmosis, by going to and learning more about where my grandmother comes from, I will be better able to understand my mom. The laws of cause and effect. It’s science…right?
Brooks Randall 